


The Importance of Blood Feathers When Molting

by farmgirl



Series: Bonds [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Ace Lives, Character Study, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rambling, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved Aziraphale (Good Omens), Wing Grooming, Wingfic, well sharing a couch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21547258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farmgirl/pseuds/farmgirl
Summary: Aziraphale is the ONLY being(Ethereal, Occult, or Human)capable of getting injured in a bookshop.  Good thing he's got a best friend with a sixth sense for his well being.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Bonds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762834
Comments: 6
Kudos: 211





	The Importance of Blood Feathers When Molting

**Author's Note:**

> **Hey guys! I now have a beta reader. Please give LawrVert a round of applause for helping me make this better! Besides grammar and spelling fixes, some things have been clarified, general fluidity is hopefully up, and around 250 words have been added! Feel free to reread if you read it before, and please enjoy if this is your first time!**
> 
> My beta reader's profile can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawrVert/profile)
> 
> This is my first story in this fandom, please be gentle. I almost didn't post it, but as several people have pointed out, extra cakes are always OK. Hopefully, I'm not the only person convinced there's no such thing as too many Wingfics in the Good Omens fandom.
> 
> This story is Ace Friendly! This is Pre-relationship, but there's love here to interpret as you wish ;)
> 
> Dedicated to my wife, because she patiently let me read this to her, and thought it was great.
> 
> To those new to Wingfics:  
> Blood Feathers: Sometimes called pin feathers(wiki it for explanation), when a feathered creature moults (once a year for some birds)the new feathers come in with the nerves still attached for a bit. According to various internet searches, breaking one can lead to heavy bleeding and could be considered a medical emergency. If not pulled, they may require a trip to the Vets to get them to do the pulling.  
> Consult Wikipedia or the library for more :)
> 
> -In my fics-  
> Italics are thoughts  
> All Caps are yelling  
> Underlining is emphasis

He'd been ignoring it for days. It was an itchy irritating feeling that burned in his back most of the time. To be honest, he'd ignored it far longer than a few days. It had to be at least 2 millennia since he'd last felt the telltale signs of a moult from the second set. But honestly, he had a lot on his mind! The Apocanope followed by The Switch that had fooled Heaven and Hell (for now) was all a lot to take in, especially adding the sudden loss and return of his bookshop with the necessary cataloguing and reorganizing of his slightly altered book collection. Adam had given him the Just Williams books, which seemed to have a suspiciously familiar group of children in them. There were also a few other first edition children’s books and a couple of books by one A. Young. The last featured a unique tale about a pirate and a dinosaur that Aziraphale couldn’t wait to read. Who could blame him if he'd ignored the obvious?

Aziraphale made it a habit to ignore his secondary wings after coming to earth. They were directly below his main wings and smaller to boot. Extra wings had been around Heaven since before the Fall and mostly operated as a sign of rank and therefore were treated as a point of pride. But being the Principality of Europe(and Guardian of the Eastern Gate if you wanted the full title), it was rather a given when you had been assigned for 6000 years. Rank had little to no meaning to the angel dwelling down here. 

And the blasted things were a confounded nuisance to groom on his own! Their position and his short arms in this human corporation made dealing with them a misery. So Aziraphale made it a habit to deal with the main set as needed(supposedly once a week but really once a month because who had the time?) and just ignored the secondary set. Unfortunately, moulting was different.

And that was how the angel came to be standing between two bookshelves towards the back of the shop, re-shelving a set of 17th-century poetry, when he happened to step back and trip over a bookend carelessly lying on the floor (for the curious, bookends are a necessary part of a collection Aziraphale's size, but also can be subpar depending on the type. This was one of the cheap metal ones.) Much of the bookshop had been returned mostly intact with just a bit of an addition in the adventure and science-fiction sections, apparently most of Adam's experiences with bookends had been with the sad metal ones that tended to end up where they weren't wanted. Aziraphale was working on miracling them all into something better, but it was quite a long process. He stumbled backward into a bookshelf and felt something press for a second before it gave way. He was hit by a wave of pain that brought him to his knees. Aziraphale looked over his shoulder and with a sinking heart saw the distinctive shimmer of golden blood. _Oh dear, that doesn’t look good_

Broken blood feathers in angels didn’t necessarily lead to death as easily as in birds. But they were still no laughing matter and the more feathers that are broken, the higher the chance of an inconvenient discorporation as each one was just another open wound to bleed from. Heaven had never looked on such discorporations kindly. Especially since avoiding the problem was easy, if an angel kept track of their moults.

He'd broken a blood feather, possibly more than one from the pain shooting through him. And rather inconveniently it happened to be in the secondary set, which meant he couldn't just reach back himself and pull the broken feathers out. To top it all off, he was already feeling the beginnings of dizziness. Wonderful, barely 3 weeks into the rest of their lives, and he was going to discorporate due to his clumsiness. 

As he continued to try to focus on reaching back for the broken feathers, Aziraphale automatically started praying, mostly out of wild hope She might be listening for once, as well as a lack of options. 

_Please Lord, a little help just this once. Save the others the unpleasantness of seeing me again so soon perhaps?_

The door crashed open and a familiar voice cut short his brief prayers heavenwards.

“ANGEL?!”

Goodness, that was a new record for the fastest answer to prayer.

“Up here," Aziraphale called. He certainly hadn’t whimpered. Principalities did not whimper, even when breaking blood feathers through ridiculous accidents, and oh dear, Crowley looked pale when he saw him.

“What the bloody heaven happened, Angel?” The demon asked as he caught sight of Aziraphale and what was probably by now an alarming amount of angelic blood. 

“I broke a blood feather or more than one I think," he responded. He felt Crowley's hands on his shoulder moving him. Even with the sunglasses on, he could see the demon's eyes go a bit wide with surprise. But after a moment he reached back and gently pulled the angel's secondary right wing forward then gave a low whistle.

“Don't do anything by halves, do you? You broke three Angel. Those are going to have come out and fast.”

“Right. Can we at least pull them somewhere else please? I don’t want to get any more blood on the books, they’re going to all have to be miracled clean later anyway-”

“Yes, yes, Angel I'll move you." The demon added under his breath, "Don't want to pull that many from this angle anyway." Crowley snapped his fingers, hand still on Aziraphale's shoulder. The two blinked into the backroom, landing on the couch which suddenly adjusted itself to make it easier for an injured angel to lay down. Crowley pushed him onto the couch, a convenient squishy throw pillow suddenly appearing where it would be most wanted.

“Here, lie down.” Aziraphale happily lay his head on the pillow, focusing on breathing and not blacking out. He felt his best friend's fingers slide through the feathers of his right secondary wing. "OK Angel, deep breaths I'll do them one at a time. One, two,..."Aziraphale clenched his jaw and tried to face the situation stoically. When Crowley pulled the first feather, the angel couldn't stop the whimper of pain. "You didn't even count to three!" he protested. 

The demon above him grunted. "Anticipation makes it worse. Speaking of which, next." 

"Wait a moment-!" Another feather, and this time Aziraphale cried out. He felt a brief hand on his shoulder. 

“Hang in there, Angel. Last one." The final blood feather was pulled, and the angel on the couch decided that Principality or not, that bloody well hurt. He bit a knuckle and buried his face in the throw pillow. Blood feathers, it had to be blood feathers. Brand new ones at that with the nerves still attached and sensitive. He felt a hand on his shoulder again and heard the sound of Crowley shifting to sit down by the couch. 

“Seriously Angel, you have to be the only being who can find a way to get hurt in a bookshop.” 

Aziraphale turned his head to glare(or rather pout) at the demon. "I didn't mean it, it was a simple accident. It's not my fault I banged a wing on a bookcase. If I wasn't moulting they wouldn't be popping into this plane so easily!"

He was getting a much nastier glare than he could manage from the demon. “Yeah? How about you tell me why you didn’t ask for help. Could have kept an eye on them, helped with grooming. Not like you can ask that bunch of wankers upstairs for a hand.” 

That was a good point, one he was in no position to argue about. “I’m sorry. I honestly haven’t had to deal with moulting in so long I didn’t even think about what I would do when it happened.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow, his irritation somewhat side-railed by curiosity. “I thought angels moult once a century. Not like this is the first time I’ve seen you in a moult.”

“Err, main wings yes, secondary or more only once a millennia," Aziraphale explained while plucking at the throw pillow he was lying on.

“Once a MILLENNIA?”

“Or two, they can skip at times you see. I suspect the stress got to me and I didn't realize it. I haven’t thought about them in so long.” 

“That’s what grooming's for, Angel.” The demon looked amused. “To see this shit coming.” 

Crowley’s answer was silence and a rather red-faced angel.

“You do groom, angel? That thing where you take care…”

“Yes yes, I'm not as good at caring for my wings as you are. I get busy!" Aziraphale snapped in retaliation, propping himself up again to glare at his friend.

Crowley snickered, familiar with this pattern at least. Throughout their long friendship, he'd seen how the angel could get caught up in things and forget to take care of himself. Not being human, most of the time it didn't matter, but wing care was something ALL spiritual beings(occult or ethereal)had to deal with. Demons obsessed over theirs, which was why demon wings tended to look better than angel wings. Only Aziraphale could miss the fact his wings needed care to the point of not seeing a moult coming. It was endearing, in an exasperating sort of way.

“Look, you can’t ask up there anymore, “a thumb gestured at the ceiling and beyond, “but you can ask down here angel. It’s just the two of us now after all.” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” The angel tried to protest again, still uncomfortable with needing help.

“You're not imposing, angel." Crowley stood and sat on the couch, which after a pointed look, expanded even more so that it was rather like a futon sofa instead of an 18th-century chaise lounge at this point. The demon began gently running his fingers through the angel’s feathers, helping shed the old ones and carefully clearing away any casings that were ready to shed from the blood feathers. Aziraphale melted into the couch. 

“Oh, that’s lovely, thank you.”

“Mm...” was the demon's eloquent response. “So long as I’m going to be here for a while, mind telling me why I never knew you had two sets of wings angel?”

“Ahh, they’re only there for show you know, and I don’t tend to need that on earth.”

Crowley was frowning, his fingers running through the feathers, seeking problems. He felt a strange dip in the angel’s wing, where the bone seemed to have been nicked at one point. He felt Aziraphale stiffen as he ran a cautious finger over the old scar. 

“What’s this?”

“Ahh, that’s rather old, long time ago, doesn’t matter now all better!”

“Yeah? Feels like someone took a sword to it angel. That really a normal thing for angels?”

Mumbling was his answer. “Try again angel, can’t hear you. What, did you get into an argument with a human while drunk or something? What’s so embarrassing?”

Aziraphale heaved a sigh. "No. There was a 'discussion' after my failure in Eden, loss of the sword, and all that. The archangels proposed I should be stripped down to Principality instead of Second Rank Principality. But it was decided in the end that condemning someone for being 'compassionate’ was not befitting of angels and the matter was dropped." The way the angel said 'compassionate' suggested how badly the word had been used. 

Aziraphale contemplated the memory for a moment. "I think that's why I was left on earth for so long. It was supposed to be a punishment, not visiting Heaven as often. Of course, then it became impressive I hadn't discorporated in so long when most angels who were assigned for more than a week seemed to run into constant trouble."

Crowley had paused during this answer and was staring at the scar, only visible at the moment since Aziraphale was lacking most of his feathers. “You got into trouble for giving the sword away?” 

“Err, sort of? It was part of the discussion. Also showing mercy to the Enemy, which seemed to have Gabriel rather put out with me-”

“You got into trouble because of me Angel? Guess sheltering a demon beneath your wings during a rainstorm was too much for Upstairs."

“No no no, not that, it was…” Aziraphale hesitated. _Oh for goodness sakes, just say it. “_ It was because I didn't smite you off the wall. Being that you're a demon and all. "

Crowley snorted, “Should have known all those messages about peace weren’t for the lowly Fallen __ _,_ just the humans who do far worse to themselves on a daily basis. Granted, you’re lucky it was me who was causing trouble. Wouldn’t get that kind of subtlety from any old foul fiend.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Heaven does seem to have its share of mixed messages, I grant you that.” The angel squirmed as Crowley lightly tapped between his shoulder blades.

“Let me see the main ones angel, might as well do the job right.” Aziraphale’s main set manifested, looking rather ratty. “Ugh, when was the last time you groomed, angel? A couple of months, a few years?”

“Very funny. Sometime in June...no May I think?”

Silence for several moments, as the demon absorbed that and the angel went back to plucking at the throw cushion again.

“Any reason you enjoy having dirty wings for months, angel?”

“They’re not dirty, just a bit ruffled! They don’t need a great deal of care in a bookshop. There’s been quite a bit going on for the past 11 years. Forgive me if I prefer to do other things besides sit and mindlessly pick over feathers for hours on end.”

“Do ‘em once a week and they only take an hour,” the demon dryly pointed out.

“Yes, well, we don't all indulge in sins of the flesh," Aziraphale sniped back.

“Except for the dessert menu. And the clothes. And the wine. And-"

“Did you have a purpose in coming over here, or did you merely wish to point out my shortcomings and pull blood feathers. Or perhaps you're so bored you want to waste hours on grooming." Aziraphale wished he could move, this discussion would be easier if he could bleed off some of his irritation with reshelving more books. 

“Mm, my trouble senses were going off. Thought it was our Head offices at first until I saw your wings and realized what had happened."

Aziraphale propped himself up on the cushion, grateful for the extra padding around his middle that made the feat less than it would be for most human-shaped beings. "What exactly are trouble senses?"

“Err, not sure. I call them that. Sometimes. Also call them ‘Angel is in over his head again’ senses. That one certainly fits well enough.” Crowley shrugged, apparently unconcerned with this unique ability. 

“I beg your pardon?" Aziraphale was starting to use the same snooty tone that scared off its fair share of customers and investment property buyers.

“Oh come off it, Aziraphale. You know you rush in to help sometimes and don't think about it until after. Remember the 70s when you used to harbour every stray queer person in Soho from the coppers. I can give you a list miles long."

“How long have you had this sense of my well-being?”

“Ehh since the 1600s I think?,” Crowley replied thoughtfully, “I know it was pretty well established by 1793, it’s how I knew you’d gone and gotten yourself locked up in the Bastille. Over crepes, Angel.”

The angel deliberately ignored the last remark. “Odd, I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that. Do you think I have one?”

“Probably never needed it, you don't have to chase after bleeding-heart angels with no sense of self-preservation just because you have an Arrangement that lets you be lazy on your paperwork."

Aziraphale contemplated this interesting new information for a bit. "Perhaps you've got it right, at least the gist of it. You tend to be more capable of getting out of trouble than I am, so it would make sense that you don't have the same need to be rescued." He let the thought percolate for a while more. "I wonder if I'll ever have the chance to use mine?"

The demon muttered, “Doubt it.” 

That led to a long silence of angelic pouting. Aziraphale lay back down, wiggling a bit to find a more comfortable position. Being stuck on one’s stomach for hours wasn’t the most pleasant.

“Go to sleep, angel. You’ll be here a while no matter what I do. You don’t want to roll over and damage those blood feathers again.” 

Aziraphale didn’t mean to follow that suggestion, he much preferred to stay up for a bit, maybe miracle a book for himself. But it had been an awfully long time since he’d had this much physical touch between himself and another, especially of the positive kind, even longer since it wasn’t a human. He always had to be wary of them. His thoughts began to drift, and soon he was asleep.

* * *

Crowley noticed the angel drift off and allowed himself a huff of relief. Honestly, getting Aziraphale to sleep was often a Herculean task. He’d actually thought of suggesting it to old Eurystheus as one of the Labours but wasn't sure the angel would let him get away with it. Especially as they weren't as well acquainted back then. Fortunately, moulting was an exhausting act which meant the angel was more likely to pass out despite sheer stubbornness.

“Right, to work then. This looks like an all-night task." Honestly, how the angel could avoid grooming for almost 4 months was beyond him. It couldn't be comfortable. Once a week was supposed to be taught from the point of existence. The demon idly wondered if Heaven had gone as far as teaching that wing care was some kind of indulgence. He wouldn't put it past the wankers, they seemed to mark anything sensible or pleasurable as "indulgence". 

The demon’s thoughts roamed for a bit as he lost himself in wondering exactly what heaven had done to his angel. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked himself that question. Watching Aziraphale dither back and forth over the morals of actions, especially the angel’s own, for 6000 years had caused the question to be raised before. But he had always concluded that Aziraphale was Aziraphale, unfailingly kind and compassionate to all he met. Not that the angel couldn’t get angry, he tended to have a rather low tolerance for those who took pleasure in causing others misery. But he could be endlessly understanding of all of humanity's petty weaknesses. He always seemed torn between scolding Crowley for his mischief and admiring the way the demon made sure that the humans he harassed were always free to exercise their free will. 

Since they had finally gained their own side, little things about Heaven had been starting to come out. Every time he thought of Gabriel and his "lose the gut" remark the demon wanted to punch the archangel in the face, never mind the danger. He certainly hadn’t regretted scaring the lot of them with the hellfire at Aziraphale’s “execution” after he learned about that. Aziraphale loved so many things so utterly, including food, wine, books, and the Earth itself. Having his love of food in particular mocked was enough to make Crowley see red. Granted, that was probably in part because watching the angel eat was one of Crowley’s deepest sins. He should know, he’d inspired humans to come up with the concept of “food porn” as a direct result! 

Crowley felt his eyes drawn back to the scar on Aziraphale’s secondary wing. Why would they try to take off his wings for such a small act? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t known Aziraphale of all beings would be compassionate. Not for the first time, Crowley wondered if the angels had it out for the Principality.

Being Upstairs as the angel had raised the question again, but louder than ever. Why did they ignore the Principality most of the time, except when they felt like scolding him? Why did they scold him for “frivolous miracles”, it wasn’t as if Aziraphale failed to use his miracles to help as many people as he did to do little things like reheat cocoa. If Upstairs would allow him, Crowley suspected that all of London would have the same reputation for peace, love, and safety that the angel’s section of Soho had somehow acquired over the past decades. 

Aziraphale, when free to do so, was quite capable of looking out for every stray that crossed his path. The demon hadn't been joking about the 70s. Somebody, that had been a bleeding nightmare of a time. The 80s hadn’t been much better for that matter. Every queer person in the area had learned that the bookshop was a safe haven by the end of the AIDS crisis…

Right. Enough of that thought process. Remembering that mess and how much it had taken out of the angel was more than he wanted to reflect on, especially sober. 

Crowley came out of his thoughts to realize the angel’s wings were at least decent enough to leave alone for a bit. _Have to remember to harass him about better grooming habits though. If he waits months again, he’s going to make himself miserable_. Meanwhile, what to do with a sleeping angel, or rather how to keep a sleeping angel from rolling over and damaging those blood feathers again __ _?_ The demon sighed. Right, nothing for it it seemed, and at least the sofa was already stretched. He shifted so he was on the angel’s other side, well away from the edge as he lay down, but close enough to make sure Aziraphale wouldn’t be rolling over in his sleep. 

It would probably have been an awkward position for most humans, and certainly for other angels, but Crowley and Aziraphale had been on earth since the Beginning. And human customs had undergone numerous changes over 6 millennia. There had been a time when sleeping with someone of the same gender had been as normal as breathing, even to strangers at times when travelling. Opposite gender had been frowned on when unrelated for longer, though exceptions had always existed at various points in history. This certainly wasn't the first time the two had shared a bed, though it had been several hundred years at least at this point. One of the more interesting things about Aziraphale made more sense to the demon now he had seen what Heaven looked like, and more importantly felt like. It was a cold sterile place, definitely nothing like the warm friendly Principality that had been Crowley's best friend(and unrequited beloved), for such a long time. No wonder the angel seemed to almost crave physical contact at times. As much as they'd had to be careful, and as much as Aziraphale's old fashioned manners from a century or so ago had limited it, it was still noticeable, if you knew where to look.

As Crowley drifted off, he idly wondered what the morning would bring. Probably a grumpy angel who would demand tea, pastries, and then a full breakfast, followed by a full brunch, a full lunch, and a full dinner. Moulting took a lot of energy and eating tended to be Aziraphale's chosen method of restoring it. Curling shamelessly around his angel, the demon sighed as the Aziraphale’s personal warmth rolled over him. The angel shifted a bit, pressing closer. The demon found he couldn’t wait to be able to deal with his angel’s whinging and food demands. For the first time, he would be where he wanted, where he belonged, instead of stuck popping in and out once a month(if he was lucky to get there that often) while dodging Heaven. As the scent of rain wafted off the large wing that had moved to cover him, Crowley decided it was not a bad way to start the rest of their lives, even if it did involve bloody blood feathers.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for excessive rambling, this story kind of got away from me after it had done what it was supposed to. This folks, is why I prefer to outline, even if just with a bullet list! Kudos and comments are equally welcomed :)
> 
> Again, my beta reader's profile can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LawrVert/profile)
> 
> If you want to shout about Good Omens hit me up on [tumblr](https://ffxplayer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
